


Ceding Control

by DoctorRoseAfterDark (lastbluetardis)



Series: Kinktober [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Restraints, Romance, Smut, soft dom/sub play, sub space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26776297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastbluetardis/pseuds/DoctorRoseAfterDark
Summary: There is something so liberating about handing over complete control to another person.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Series: Kinktober [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948375
Comments: 18
Kudos: 76
Collections: Fangirlia Kinktober Fest!





	Ceding Control

**Author's Note:**

> Day two of Kinktober!
> 
> Prompt: handcuffs/bongage/restraints  
> ~2800 words
> 
> Btw, this is HiddenTreasures/lastbluetardis, just publishing under the pseud where I've moved all my smutty pwp fics 😅

“Don’t move.”

The firm words echo in his ears, clanging and reverberating. His heart pounds a sharp staccato rhythm in his chest, sending his blood _down, down, down_ with each beat. His body is hot and heavy, already aching with desire, greedy for more.

Rose straddles his waist as she takes his hands in hers and guides them above his head. He grips one of the wrought iron posts that makes up the headboard of their bed, and shivers at the sensation of smooth silk tickling across his wrists.

With the way she’s leaning over him, her breasts sway tantalizingly in front of his face. He licks his lips. It would be so, _so_ easy to lean up and catch a nipple in his mouth, to flick his tongue across it in a way that would make Rose gasp and arch into him.

But she told him not to move. He deserves a medal, honestly, for obeying her command when there is a naked Rose above him.

A few minutes later, Rose caresses his fingers.

“How’s that?”

The Doctor glances up. One of his ties—a deep burgundy one with a pattern of navy-blue rose vines stamped across it—binds his wrists and hands to the bedpost. He pulls experimentally, gently at first, then more vigorously. The knot holds, and with how soft the fabric is, there’s no uncomfortable chafing against his wrists.

“Perfect,” he answers.

“Remember to tell me if you want me to untie you,” she says, as though this is the first time they’ve tried this rather than the dozenth.

“I know, love.”

She leans down to slot her lips against his. His arms automatically move to hold her closer, but they’re impeded by the restraints, and he groans in frustration. She grins.

“Already want out?” she teases. She brushes his hair away from his face and trails the backs of her fingers down his cheeks and neck. “Already wish you were free so you could touch me?”

“I always want to touch you.”

It’s true. This body has always been rather responsive to Rose, even before the metacrisis. Becoming part human has only heightened the sensations, what with the influx of hormones raging through his body without his control.

His eyes flutter shut as her lips and hands leisurely explore his body, while his own remain frustratingly clenched around the bars of their bed. Each time he thinks this will be the last time, because it is _so bloody rubbish_ not being able to touch Rose, to tease her as she is teasing him, but invariably, he enjoys himself immensely and will be just as eager to comply when she asks if she can restrain him in the future. It’s baffling how he can be both frustrated and _incredibly turned on_ by this.

The hot, pounding pressure concentrates between his legs as he grows harder and harder beneath her touch. She’s as attentive as ever, finding all of his most sensitive spots and lavishing them with kisses and caresses, even as she completely ignores the place he’s _aching_ for her to touch. Her hands wander tantalizingly close a few times, her fingers walking down his happy trail until he thinks she will _finally_ touch him, but at the last minute, she always lets her hands fall to the side to trace his waistline.

He grunts and thrusts up, hoping beyond hope that she will take pity. Just a little touch. One small, tiny pass of her hand against him. That’s all he wants. Something to take the edge off, so to speak. A taste of the pleasure he knows will come.

But they’ve been doing this long enough that he is well aware that she will never give in that easily. Not unless he tells her that he genuinely wants to stop, which he never has and doesn’t plan on doing.

So he lies there in limbo between frustration and satisfaction while Rose continues her journey across his body.

Time ceases to exist, which is saying quite a lot considering he used to be a lord of it. While he still has scraps of his old time senses, whenever he’s with Rose, those seem to all vanish. It was disorienting at first, to be so _consumed_ by another person that he forgot anything and everything that wasn’t _Rose_. It was scary to no longer be in control of his own body, too. But once he got over the shock and panic, though, he came to rather enjoy these utterly human moments.

He loves doing this with Rose. Not just the restraints, though those are lovely too, but _making love_. He’d never quite understood the phrase before—love can’t be made. It’s an emotion, a chemical process in the brain. It’s something to be felt and experienced, and it’s something that can get stronger with time and familiarity, but surely it isn’t something to be _made_.

Oh, how wrong he was.

When they’re like this, when it is him and Rose, sharing this precious, vulnerable piece of themselves, it’s not just a physical, chemical reaction. It’s not a simple matter of blood flow and endorphins and arousal leading to sexual pleasure. No, it’s a joining of _them_ , body and mind, body and _soul_. There is a unique and exquisite pleasure of being inside the woman he loves and trusts most in the world, most in the universe. Not just physical pleasure. There is something deeper, something rawer, about the pleasure he finds with her. It’s completion in every sense of the word; the feeling of being whole, of being known and understood and accepted by another person.

It is enough to make his single human heart swell until he swears it’s about to burst. He has never loved and been loved like this before.

“Hey, you still with me?” Rose’s hands are at his cheeks, her brows furrowed in a frown.

He gives her a smile. “Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts. All good thoughts.”

“Hmm… well, if your thoughts are capable of distracting you, I must not be doing a very good job,” she drawls, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Will it help if I tell you my thoughts were about what we’re doing?”

“I suppose. Are you ready?”

“Always,” he answers.

Rose ducks down to catch his lips in a soft kiss as she grinds her hips down on his. He gasps into her mouth, his pleasure consuming his every corner of his mind once more. He can’t help but squirm, trying to get more friction. Rose works with his movements, rubbing herself against him; he can feel how worked up she is, feel the wet heat that surrounds him.

“Please,” he rasps, arching up into her. 

She nods and lifts her hips. Reaching between them, Rose takes him in hand, lines him up, and slowly sinks down onto him. The sensations that spark up his spine force a groan from his throat. He plants his heels into the mattress to thrust up, but accomplishes very little, what with how Rose’s thighs are clamped around him, pinning him. He’s stronger than she is, and it would be no trouble to dislodge her grip from his waist, but that’s not the point of this.

“Don’t make me tie down your legs,” she warns, giving his nipple a quick pinch that stings, yet coils the heat tighter in his belly.

He finds he wouldn’t mind being wholly tied down—arms and legs—and being completely at Rose’s mercy.

The first time she had suggested they use restraints, he had balked so completely that Rose never brought up the subject again. He could not comprehend why some people liked being tied up; wasn’t it terrifying to be out of control? To be physically _bound_ and helpless during an already vulnerable moment?

But then again, he wouldn’t be helpless, would he? He would have Rose. And if there was only one thing he would have utter faith and confidence in, it was her.

So he had gone to her later and told her that he would like to try it, being tied up. They had started easy, with binding his wrists together but not to anything else, so he still had a decent range of motions with his arms. They had done that half a dozen times before graduating to tying him to the bedpost. Ironically, despite being restrained, the Doctor had felt _freed_. There was something so liberating about handing over complete control to another person, especially to a person he trusted more than anyone else. He didn’t have to worry about anything in the world. Alone with each other and their intimacy, the responsibilities outside their home ceased to exist, and all he had to do was be there in the moment with the woman he loved most in the world.

Presently, the Doctor forces his legs to relax, to lie still so Rose doesn’t have to exert the energy to keep him from moving. He would rather her exert her energy in a different way.

Rose begins to move on him, painfully slowly. _Up… pause… down… pause…_ This is the rhythm she sets. Hot, heavy pressure coils within his belly with every slick drag of her muscles against him. He chokes out her name whenever she tightens around him.

“You feel amazing,” she moans, arching her neck as she pleasures herself atop him.

“You too,” he grunts, clenching his hands into fists in an attempt to relieve some of the burning, impatient pressure swelling through him. He wants her to _move_ , wants her to take him hard and fast. But he also doesn’t want this to end. There is nothing he loves more than watching Rose in the throes of passion and ecstasy, knowing that it’s because of him that she’s feeling good.

It is almost painful, how slow the build-up is. His body is thrumming with energy, with the instinct and desire to satisfy his selfish pleasure.

It isn’t long before he begins to tremble, a combination of keeping still and of the coil being drawn impossibly tightly low in his gut. Rose is giving him _just enough_ stimulation to keep him on the edge of ecstasy, but not quite enough to tip him over. It’s overwhelming and frustrating, yet he would happily stay in this limbo for as long as Rose would let him.

His body is burning, his skin overheated and his forehead damp with sweat. He pants and gasps for breath, parching his already-dry throat.

He isn’t sure how Rose is managing to touch him and herself at the same time, and continue her steady pace atop him. One of her hands is between her legs, rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves—he is intensely jealous of that hand, as _he_ wants to be the one helping her find her pleasure—while her other is stroking any part of him she can reach.

Her face is crimson, her neck and chest flushed with exertion as she continues moving. Her hair cascades around her shoulders, a waterfall of gold that ripples in the low lamplight with every arch of her hips.

He yanks at the restraints binding his hands as a physical _ache_ consumes him. He is desperate to touch her, to hold her. But his tie holds firm, and his hands grapple uselessly with the bars of their bed frame, holding onto the cool metal as Rose continues this exquisite torture.

His nerve endings are livewires of sensation. Every brush of her skin heightens his arousal farther than it usually goes. Rose, too, is panting and moaning with every sway of her hips; her restraint is bloody commendable, to be honest. There is no way he would’ve been able to keep this lazy, unhurried pace for as long as she has.

A particularly potent bolt of pleasure flares through him as she clenches around him, and all of a sudden, he realizes he’s approaching climax. There is a _tug_ at the base of his spine, as the pressure mounts then bottoms out, blooming from deep in his gut.

“Gonna come,” he manages to croak a mere second before pure, unadulterated _relief_ shatters through him.

His entire body seizes, convulsing on the bed, as he arches hard into Rose. A kaleidoscope of colors pop behind his eyes as his blood roars in his ears. Heat and pleasure spark through his veins, sending ripples of goosebumps across his skin and constricting the air from his lungs. He’s shivering and moaning and desperate to wrap her in a hug but his _damned hands are still bound_.

It’s going on for ages, much longer than it usually does. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he’d accidentally forged a mental connection to Rose and is getting lost in the feedback loop of pleasure. But no, his mind—foggy and hazy though it is—is completely his own.

Just when he thinks his vision is clearing, Rose contracts around him, squeezing him and sending aftershocks through him. His body trembles as pleasure washes through him again, gentler this time. Rose is crying out above him, grinding down on him as she loses herself. He wants to watch her, but his eyes can’t quite focus, so he closes them and simply _feels_. Simply exists in this moment with her, listening to her cry his name and her love for him.

Finally, things go quiet. His heart has calmed and his ears aren’t ringing and his pulse isn’t throbbing behind his closed eyelids. His body isn’t shaking, though he is rather sweaty, and he wants nothing more than to drift off to sleep.

Gentle hands find his, caressing his fingers. There is a whisper of soft, smooth fabric against his wrists, before his arms fall limply by his head. His fingers are somewhat stiff as he flexes them and rolls his wrists.

“Okay?”

The Doctor forces his eyes open. Rose is still astride him, her eyes glazed but focused on him.

“That was intense,” he mumbles.

Rose chews on her bottom lip. “Was it all right? I… I thought you looked like you were enjoying it…”

“I did,” he assures. “I didn’t expect it to get so overwhelming. A good kind of overwhelming, though. God, I could sleep for days.”

Rose lets out a relieved laugh and sluggishly climbs off of him. With a grunt, she collapses onto her back beside him. Well that won’t do. He’s spent the last however-long—really, how long has it been? The hours and the minutes blended seamlessly together until he could have made an argument that either five minutes or five hours had passed—wanting to touch her.

Though his body is extraordinarily heavy, he manages to roll onto his side and drapes himself across her. It’s nice, being held by Rose. He likes burrowing into her soft, warm curves. He likes when her arm wraps around his shoulders, her fingers resting in his hair.

He drapes a thigh over hers, moaning when his hips press flush with hers; he’s still very sensitive, and this solid pressure feels incredible as long as he doesn’t accidentally rub against her.

“I love you,” he breathes, tucking his face into her neck. He kisses her, able to feel the steady throb of her pulse in the vein beneath his lips. “I love you, Rose.”

“I love you too, Doctor,” she replies, squeezing her arm around his shoulder.

He reaches out with his other hand, groping blindly. He touches her breast, her shoulder, her elbow, before he finds her hand where it lies limply on the mattress. Threading their fingers together, he lets out a long, low breath.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

“It was murder on my thighs—I’ll definitely be feeling that tomorrow,” she teases, scraping her fingernails gently across his scalp. He shivers and groans. “But yes, I very much enjoyed it.”

The Doctor hums but can’t bring himself to continue speaking. His body is still humming with happy, loving hormones, made more intense by the fact that nearly every available inch of himself is pressed against her. There is nowhere else he would rather be, and it’s almost upsetting to think about leaving this cozy cocoon of intimacy they’ve created.

Thankfully Rose doesn’t seem to be in a rush to get up either. In fact, it only takes a few minutes before she lets out a quiet snore. The sound pulls a yawn from him, and he suddenly can’t hold his eyes open anymore. Joining Rose in a nap sounds like the best way to spend the next hour, so he doesn’t fight his heavy eyelids, letting them close and letting the rest of the world fade away.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you've read this, I would love to hear from you 💜💜💜


End file.
